


The Land of Unicorns

by Ebony_Draygon



Series: Fading Embers [6]
Category: Gloryhammer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hootsforce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-12-07 14:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20977550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebony_Draygon/pseuds/Ebony_Draygon
Summary: Princess Iona McDougall needs to find a safe haven for her surviving people following the destruction of Dundee. Luckily a mysterious hermit finds them on the road and offers a solution.





	1. The Long Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheDarkMetalLady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkMetalLady/gifts).

Iona  McDougall, the Princess of Dundee,  sat huddled by the meager glow of the campfire. Nearby other survivors huddled under their own blankets and shawls to stave off the bitter cold. Bowls of cold porridge were handed round; the fires were not large enough to cook upon but they did not dare try to make anything larger. They didn’t want the light and smoke to draw the eyes of Chaos onto them.

They could not stay like this for long. After days of frantic travel whilst being harried by the forces of evil the number of survivors she led had steady dwindled. Their numbers and her hope. These peasants and warriors looked up to her and looked to her for guidance, but she had no one to turn to. Her plan had been to take everyone west and pray that the stronghold of Inverness might offer shelter to the refugees. But there was still far too much distance between them and the safety of strong castle walls. That was even if Inverness still stood. The Questlord would have surely ridden forth to fight the Dark Wizard Zargothrax, but with the fall of the Knights of Crail and…

She shook her head to dispel the nightmarish images that her rebellious mind conjured. No. They would make it to the stronghold and her people would be safe. Once she had ensured that she could focus on gathering further forces to take back Dundee to rescue her beloved. To think that the brave Angus McFife was trapped in a prison of frost just as she had been. She could scarcely imagine what frozen horror he was having to endure in the dark wizard’s clutches. Unbidden her mind supplied a new nightmare; her betrothed frozen in ice with hand outstretched as if to take up his Hammer and fight. The Dark Wizard smiling with sadistic joy as he brushed aside the shattered ice that had once held him and a dark and wicked dagger in his hand. That same dagger that still dripped with the noble blood of Ser Proletius. Zargothrax bringing down the knife towards the green-clad armoured heart of Angus-

Iona choked back a sob, causing one of the nearby peasants to look to her with concern. Zargothrax wouldn’t… would he? She didn’t know any more. She had no one with whom she could question the full extent of the Dark Wizard’s cruelty. He had turned the Knights of Crail, so would he be simply content with leaving her love to suffer in frozen horror? Or would he force Angus to serve as well? If that were so then what hope did the kingdom of Fife have? What hope did she and her surviving people have? Unsteadily, she pushed herself to her feet and away from the fire. She could barely feel it anyway past her own chilling dread. She needed time to herself, away from worried eyes. She needed somewhere private to let her true feelings and emotions out before putting herself back together to present the calm and collected Princess her people needed. But there was no where she could hide. Not out in this Hoots-forsaken wilderness with goblins roaming the land freely. She needed something to distract herself, something else to focus on, some new problem that took up all her attention so she had no chance to let her mind wander to dark corners again.

“Princess! Princess, we’ve found another survivor!”

Hoots be praised, her prayers were answered! Quickly she schooled her face to one of determined authority and quickly made her way towards the shouts. One of her few remaining warriors acknowledged her approach. Beside him was a shabby twig of a man. A deep cowl covered his head and concealed the man’s face but the rest of his clothes told a tale of hardships. He was certainly not dressed for the bitter wind and rain of the highlands, but his dark blue clothing was otherwise the practical cloth-and-leathers of one experienced in combat. As she looked over the stranger she felt his unseen eyes doing the exact same to her. How thankful she was that dear Angus had told her about the allies he had made on his quest.

“Stand down, warrior,” she commanded, a faint smile gracing her face for what felt like the first time in days. “This is truly a friend. Welcome grave hermit of Cowdenbeath. You have no idea how relieved we are to see a friendly face in these trying times.”

“I think I have a good guess,” replied Ralathor. He pulled back his hood to reveal his face and removed a pair of dark lenses from his eyes. His brow furrowed as he looked over the meager camp they had made. “Where are you heading?”

“To the stronghold of the Questlords of Inverness.”

“Don’t bother,” said Ralathor as he put the dark lenses back on his face. “Zargothrax had them wiped out about three days ago. Your best bet would be to take your people somewhere less well known. Find a good cave and hide out. Farewell.”

Iona’s mouth dropped open in abject horror as Ralathor turned and started to walk away. A fiery rage suddenly consumed the Princess as she charged forward and yanked down the hermit’s hood, forcing him to face her.

“What do you mean ‘just hide out’?” she hissed. “My people need somewhere safe! We have children with us! You expect us to just curl up and hope that Zargothrax forgets about us?” Ralathor said nothing and merely continued to stare at her impassively behind his dark glasses. Infuriated, Iona snatched them off of his face and throw them to the ground. The hermit scowled at her.

“There is no stronghold that Zargothrax won’t seek out and destroy. The only hope your people have is if you hide. You can’t fight him.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? He corrupted Ser Proletius and the Knights of Crail to his unholy horde! He took Angus!”

“What?”

Iona paused in her rage as she saw the look of pure concern that now coloured the hermit’s face. She took a breath and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I had been having nightmares,” she confessed, “that I was still trapped and Zargothrax reigned supreme. Angus took me to see his frozen crystal, to prove to me that my fears were unfounded and that we were safe from that dread wizard… But then something happened. There was a massive burst of energy and when the light died we saw the crystal shattered and Zargothrax stood in its place. Angus rushed him, I think he wanted to throw him back into the lake of ice but Zargothrax…”

A gentle hand rested on her shoulder as she held back a fresh sob. With more care than she would have expected from the lonely hermit, Ralathor guided her towards one of the nearby fires and helped her to sit beside it before joining her.

“What happened after that?” he asked gently.

She took another steadying breath. “Ser Proletius defended me, told me to run and that he would hold the sorcerer off. I fled and rallied the other Knights of Crail to help him. But then he was there with Zargothrax behind him. There was a knife in the wizard’s hand and we could all see the wound on Proletius. He attacked his own knights, he slaughtered them. I escaped and fled back to Dundee to prepare a force to counter the Knights and the Dark Wizard…”

“But the cavern beneath Dundee had already been overrun by goblins and the dead,” Ralathor finished. Iona looked at him and frowned. “The first thing I did when I arrived was to check on the citadel. Then I followed your trail to here.”

A cold dread crept through the princess once more. “If you could track us then the forces of Chaos will have as well. We need to go! They could be here any moment!”

“Don’t worry, I covered your trail,” Ralathor said in a calming manner. “Only those who follow the forces of Justice will be able to see your path now.”

Iona sagged in obvious relief. “You must be a mighty sorcerer, Angus never told me that. I wish you had been there, mayhaps you would have stopped the evil wizard’s escape.”

Ralathor stared into the fire for a few moments before speaking.“ Your Zargothrax didn’t break free. He was most likely shattered inside his frozen prison by the one from my universe. The Zargothrax that has overthrown your kingdom is from another dimension, as am I. It seems he was thrown back farther than I realised. I had hoped to encounter another from our world here but if Zargothrax was thrown here weeks ago and I have only just arrived, who knows when he will appear.”

The Princess sat and tried to wrap her mind around what the hermit was telling her. He was from another world, as was the source of her nightmares, yet he had expected a third traveller who had not arrived? Or not yet arrived? More than anything Iona wished that she had access to the library of the Questlords to try and unravel this conundrum. For now though she could grasp the basics. Ralathor was as much a refugee as the rest of them and he was seeking out another. His skill and ability seemed to rival that of Zargothrax if he could so easily hide the trail of her band of survivors and bespell that trail to only be visible to others that fought against the wizard. Their goal of Inverness was no longer viable, if the hermit was correct. They needed somewhere else to go and hide until they could build a resistance. She racked her brain, remembering long summers spent touring the kingdom so that she would be familiar with the land she would one day help rule. She had always been fond of her days spent in Inverness and the times she was taken to the mystical glen of the unicorns in…

“Achnasheen!” she exclaimed. Ralathor looked at her quizzically whilst she beamed. “The valley of Achnasheen! Where the Questlords kept their unicorn herds. It was a closely guarded secret and was warded with concealment to hide it from those that might prey on the unicorns.”

Ralathor slowly nodded. “With Loch a’ Chroisg within the valley to support the hamlet there.”

Now Iona was getting visibly excited. Her people would survive after all! “And with you there to help boost the enchantments we can-”

“Who said anything about me going with you?” Ralathor questioned, suddenly terse and distrusting. Iona rolled her eyes.

“You covered our trail this far but unless you cover us the rest of the way we will simply lead Zargothrax straight for us. And if he finds the valley then he will be able to enslave the unicorns once more. With you there, you’ll be able to hide our path and make sure the wizard never locates Achnasheen. What’s more, your friend will be able to follow our path and then you can be there waiting for him to arrive. Please.”

Around them, the other survivors had clearly been listening in to the conversation of their Princess and the mysterious hermit. Now they all sat and watched, waiting for the man’s response. The hermit of Cowdenbeath looked around at the faces around him. Many hopeful, a few in awe of him but many already showing the exhausted signs that they were resigned to their fate.

If there was one thing that could motivate Ralathor, it was spite.

“Alright Princess,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I am with you.”

“Hoots be praised,” Iona said with relief, “I was worried you would say no!”

Ralathor looked at her with abject confusion. “Wait… did you say Hoots?”


	2. The Lady of the Unicorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thousand years is a long time to wait for someone to arrive. People have to make do with what they can.

The grey light of the Scottish dawn sun shone down on the sleepy valley of Achnasheen. A gentle breeze made ripples and waves across the otherwise calm surface of the nearby loch. The rocky slopes of the valley provided cool shade to the heather and moss that grew in its shadow - a favourite treat for the valley’s four legged residents. Which was why she was up in the dim dawn light with a basket over her arm and scrabbling her way around the steep hills to find treats for her charges. Iona didn’t mind the climb that much if she was honest. It gave her a good excuse to get out and walk around the valley proper. Of course, she would rather join her people in their scouting missions beyond the protective hills but Ralathor had vetoed every excuse she could come up with to go. She was too valuable to her people. She would be a massive target for Zargothrax. Someone needed to take care of the unicorns and she was the only person who had any training on the matter. Oh she had argued each and every reason he had given, she just hated the fact he was right on all accounts.

A brief heat-haze shimmer in the misty sky drew her attention. She immediately looked up and pulled back the hood of her dark cloak to get a better look at the shimmer. When they had first arrived in the valley, Ralathor had taken due care to explain to everyone the various protections he had placed on Achnasheen. One of them being a ward that shrouded the valley from all who had ill intent in their heart. The shimmer indicated that the barrier had been parted. Which meant either a scouting party had returned with much needed supplies… or that new survivors had followed their road to their waiting arms. Either was good news and Iona felt a smile tug on her lips. She had had few reasons to do so of late and so any excuse was a welcome balm. However, she still had a task to complete before she could greet the arrivals. Fixing her hood back into place she returned to her gathering. Once she had gathered the heather and moss and fed her charges, she would have plenty of time to spend with her people. She had nothing but time these days.

It was a surprise then that Ralathor came to her whilst she was tending the unicorn herd. The once-hermit had always expressed a distaste for the unicorns of the hidden glen. Something about not liking any creature that could stab you on one end and trample you on the other. She had always retorted that was because he had more in common with badgers and moles so distrusted anything that enjoyed time in the sun. Still, it was unusual for him to come to her. She quickly dusted her hands and stood up to greet him.

“Well met, Commander.” She couldn’t help but grin at his long suffering sigh.

“You as well now?”

“Well you are no longer the mysterious space hermit anymore, are you?” she replied. She gestured to an outcrop of rock - worn smooth from use over so many years to make a comfortable bench. With a nod of thanks Ralathor took a seat and she sat beside him. Not for the first time she noted their changed appearance. When they had first met on the road all those long years ago she had been the one dressed in more formal attire whilst the hermit had concealed himself in hooded garb. Now their styles were reversed; he in his fine but battered uniform and she concealed in heavy woolen cloak and shawls. How things had changed between them. And yet…

“How did the mission go? How fares Dunkeld?” she asked. Dunkeld had been the one remaining bastion of resistance outside the hidden glen and they had done much to support each other through the long struggle. When word had reached them of Zargothrax’s seige engines moving north from the southern goblin factories of Birmingham towards the ancient town, Ralathor had quickly dispatched a party to aid in evacuating its people. Surely that was what caused the breach shimmer earlier; the returning scouts and survivors. As she looked to the commander that hope slowly withered.

“Dunkeld was lost. None of the team returned; caught in the crossfire trying to save innocents from what we can tell.”

Iona hated this. She hated that so many were lost and she could do nothing to help. She hated that Ralathor rattled off those losses like numbers on a piece of paper and not actual people who had died. She took a deep breath. No. Ralathor did care. How many times had she had to carefully put the old hermit back together when his mental dams finally burst and flooded him with all his hurt. He just made sure to never show how much each death and loss pained him. There was little he could hide from her now. 

But if the scout team had not returned, what caused the break in the barrier that morning? As if reading her mind - and she had made him swear by Hoots to never do that without her express consent - he answered her.

“Angus arrived this morning. Thought you would want to know.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Angus? Angus was alive and had found them here. She wanted to grab the Sub Commander and shake him for not coming to find her immediately when her beloved arrived! But chastising Ralathor for his negligence would take too long. Instead she sprang to her feet and raced towards the silent hamlet on the edge of Loch a’ Chroisg. The hamlet had served them well as a temporary headquarters at the start but as more survivors trickled into the hidden glen they had needed more space. It had been Ralathor’s idea to emulate the dwarf-lords of Aberdeen and build downwards. Iona secretly believed that Ralathor just wanted an excuse to have a nice cosy cave again. With the Fortress of Justice now hidden below the ground, the hamlet served only as additional storage, unicorn stables and hidden passages down to the fortress below. It was through these hidden doors Iona now ran through, ignoring the warriors that dived out of her way or offered her salutes. She only had one goal in mind. She didn't care that she had left the Commander far behind. Angus was here after so long and she would be reunited with her love. 

At last her feet brought her to an unassuming door in the residential area. The room between her own chambers and Ralathor’s. If her Prince was anywhere he would be here. Suddenly nervous, she knocked on the door and turned the handle. It was not locked. The door swung open easily. Inside was a room like any other in the fortress; a well made bed, a desk and chair. A mirror and fireplace. But she could already see little personalised touches. A great hammer was resting against the wall by the fire. A green, horned helmet perched jauntily atop the mirror. Dust covered armour thrown haphazardly upon the bed. And sat at the desk…

Was not her Angus.

A young man - more boy than man in her opinion - with short hair darker than her own Agnus had been and damp from a recent shower. A dishevelled beard that had also only recently been groomed. Clothes were travel worn and sweat stained yet of a foreign design and she could see red dust clinging to the fabric. His eyes were far more world weary than anyone she had seen save for Ralathor. He had a reasonable excuse at least. To see it in this boy….

She continued to stare at him and the young prince stared back, eyes wide in surprise as he looked back. She had caught him mid meal and he had clearly taken a larger bite than would be considered polite given the way his cheeks were puffed. There was no sign of recognition in his eyes and that stung her the most. He wasn’t her Angus and as far as he knew some strange wild woman had just barged into his room and interrupted his meal. Taking a steadying breath, Iona allowed herself to drop into diplomat mode.

“I am sorry to have barged in on you like this,” she said calmly. “Forgive my excitement but it has been a while since we have had any new arrivals to the glen. When I was told of your arrival I lost my composure from the joy. Forgive my rudeness.”

The young man seemed to take her gentle words as permission to finish chewing his mouthful. Once he had swallowed he offered her a bright smile. “Don’t worry about it. I get it. Seeing what things are like outside of the valley… no wonder you’d be excited at anyone making it.” He began to push his chair back to stand. “I’m Angus McFife. The thirteenth.”

Before he could rise from his seat, Iona raised a hand to stop him. “Please, finish your meal. You must have had a hard journey. Rest, recover. There will be time enough for introductions later.” With that she gave a bow of her head to the young Prince before quickly leaving before he could ask her name.

In the corridor outside, Iona managed to take two steps away from the door before sinking down beside the wall. Her composure cracked as soft, silent sobs wracked her body. She knew it was an impossible hope, but the idea that her Angus, her lost love, might have somehow inexplicably escaped and made it back to her had always been a dream in the back of her mind. Of course this wasn’t her Angus. This was the friend that Ralathor had been waiting ten centuries to arrive. A boy from another dimension. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She had never managed to get much from Ralathor about the fate of his home dimension, save that their world had been destroyed to prevent a far greater evil from consuming the galaxy. Had this young boy fought in that struggle? She dared not consider the implications that his world was so horrifying that it was forced to send children to battle. She was only faintly aware of a hand on her shoulder. Her lack of response prompted the mystery figure to gently help her to her feet and then walk her to her barely-used chambers two doors down. She didn’t question how the figure managed to open her locked door. By the time she was aware of her surroundings once more she was sitting on her bed. Ralathor had pulled a chair from her desk to sit opposite her. His dark gaze focused on her intently and she only just managed to stifle a giggle; it had taken a decade to make the former hermit understand the importance of eye contact in conversation. Wordlessly Ralathor handed her a warm mug of tea. The scent was heavy and soothing - one of his own blends. The smell of the tea and the concerned face before her helped ground Iona back once more in the present.

“It wasn’t him,” she croaked.

“No. I should have told you.”

“I didn’t exactly give you much chance.” She took a careful sip of her tea, feeling the warmth flow through her. “At least your friend finally arrived.”

Ralathor snorted in amusement. “It only took him a thousand years.”

Iona smiled weakly. “Hoots be praised for unicorn magic that we’re still around for him then.” She noticed Ralathor flinch as she said it. She knew that he was unnaturally long-lived, no doubt due to his magics, and considered immortality a curse. He had often tried to dissuade her from spending too much time with the unicorns at first but soon the arguments had died away. Perhaps he had come to appreciate the company she provided him; a fellow immortal as long as she continued to tend the unicorns. Someone he could speak to about those long past.

She shook her head. One of the downsides of such a long life; it was so easy to get caught up in your own memories and lose touch with the present. Iona looked down at the tea in her hands. It's creamy colour told her that it had been made to her sweeter tastes. The sort of unspoken knowledge that came between friends and those who cared for you. The man in the room beside hers wasn’t her Angus. But he was still Angus, a warrior of Justice and, if she was not mistaken, wielder of the Astral Hammer. A weapon so legendary at their side would push the fight in their favour for once. She looked up at Ralathor and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“It doesn't work here,” Ralathor said. One advantage of living so long in close proximity was knowing the ticks and tells of the other. “It needs to be charged by the light of this dimension’s stars. And with the lack of space travel…” Iona frowned and her eyes darted in the direction of the Loch. Ralathor shook his head. “No, it would be too obvious and its not equipped to break atmosphere. The only viable option is in Caithness.”

“So you want to send that boy into a death trap?” Iona hissed, clenching the mug in her hands till her knuckles turned white. “He is clearly exhausted! Give him time to rest and recover. If he only just arrived, he needs time to recuperate and-”

“We don’t have time for that,” Ralathor interrupted. “Zargothrax knows that Angus is here and he’ll start to actively search for him soon. He ordered the Deardlord and his Death Knights to Auchtermuchty and Glasgow. Which means the artifact we need is only lightly guarded right now.” The Commander sighed and leaned back in his chair. “And before you say it, no, as soon as he has charged the Hammer we need to launch our attack. We cannot give Zargothrax any time to prepare a counter strike.”

Iona wished she could argue. Whilst she was the Princess of the Resistance, Ralathor was their Commander. She was their leader in spiritual and domestic matters but when it came to the direction of the Resistance, that had all been lain at the hermit’s feet. He had hated it but he had gained a reluctant acceptance as the fight dragged on. Now, he wielded the authority of his position without hesitation.

“You are going to need me with you when you strike,” she said. “I can prepare the herd to join the fight. Zargothrax won’t expect any unicorns to have survived this-” she stopped at the pained look in Ralathor’s eyes. “You don't want me to join the fight, do you? After all these years, after all the time we have spent building this Resistance! And you are going to cut me out at the final moment?!”

“I can’t lose another friend.”

Those words, so quiet and broken, smothered the rage that had been building within Iona. To be called friend by the Sub Commander was an honour not lightly given. It had been a bitter evening when he had told her the fate of the last being he had called friend; sacrificing himself to save the galaxy. Gently setting her tea down on the floor beside her, she reached out to her old friend and took his hand in hers. He didn't sob but she could see the tremors running through him as he fought to keep the pain of so many centuries contained. 

“Alright,” she soothed, “it’s okay. I’ll stay behind. I’ll stay. You just focus on making that hunk of junk you have sitting in the Loch ready for when Angus gets back.”

Ralathor gave a snort of amusement, his tremors slowly subsiding. “I’d like to see you build anything nearly as robust as that from salvaged pieces of astral zombie.”

“I still think it’s a completely bonkers idea,” she retorted. “Why make a vessel submersible if you intend to have it fly anyway?”

“One, because it is easier to hide,” Ralathor countered, relaxing into the well trod ground of playful jibes about his pet project of the last three centuries. “And two, it gives us the element of surprise and air cover against the Death Knights and their eagles.”

“And three,” quipped the Princess, “you get a portable cave to take with you.” The pair shared a laugh before lapsing into an uneasy silence. Eventually, Iona broke the silence and brought them solemnly back to the matters at hand. “How long do you expect us to have?” she asked.

“It’ll take about three days for Angus to make it to Speyside, providing the trolls and goblins on the road are minimal,” Ralathor said, his voice weary. “From there it should take another day for him to recharge the Hammer and return here. As soon as he arrives we launch our attack.”

Iona calculated matters in her head, going over logistics and the preparations their own forces and warriors would need to be ready to march on Cowdenbeath. “So we have less than a week to prepare our forces.”

“Basically,” said Ralathor.

Iona leaned forward and offered him a soft smile.“Then as your Princess, I am ordering you to take the night off and spend time with your friend. I will make provisions for him to leave at dawn for that dread blighted wasteland but for now… remind yourself why we fight.” 

Ralathor returned the smile, though it was only for a brief instance before he stood up and adjusted his hat. “I’ll see you in the morning then, Princess.”

“May Hoots be with you, old hermit,” she said. Ralathor merely scoffed.

“If he isn’t, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind when I see him.” With that he left her room and Iona was alone with her thoughts. There was a great deal that needed to be done in time for their final attack on the dark wizard - laser guns to charge, nuclear fuel to have loaded to the submarine’s engines, people to warn and arm... but she could take her own advice for a few hours. She could take tonight and allow herself to relax and to appreciate what they fought for.

Her mind drifted to a scrap of prophecy a scouting party had brought back from the ruins of Inverness. A dread portent that she truly hoped would only prove to be made ravings of an unhinged mind. But she feared they would not be that fortunate. She looked up towards her dark stone ceiling and imagined the sky far beyond these dark caverns.

“Mighty Hoots,” she prayed, “please keep them safe in the battle to come. You have helped guide and guard us this far so if I cannot stand with them, please, do so in my place. Ralathor has told me so many stories of the you from his world and truly, oh holy king of Unst, if there is anyone that can help us now… it’s you. Please…”

Her voice trailed off and she slumped down on her bed. They had less than a week to prepare. The last hope for her people and her only hope to once more see her beloved rested now on the shoulders of a young man from a fallen world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologise for the 1000 year wait for the latest update! Trials and tribulations littered my path but at last things are back on track. Big thank you to Lavender_Persimmon305 (Tumblr: tellmeoflegends) for beta'ing for me!


	3. The Frozen Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the dust has settled, it is time to reflect on what was lost. For some, that includes a thousand years trapped in ice whilst he watched his home crumble under a dark wizard's hand.

It felt strange to walk through the ruins of Dundee.

If felt strange to simply walk.

He had to remind himself that he was free. 

That he was no longer trapped in that frozen prison. 

That the evil wizard had finally been defeated. 

That he would no longer have to watch in silent horror what had become of his home and his friends.

They could all now start to heal.

Angus Mcfife, Prince of Fife and beloved of Princess Iona  McDougall , had watched the terrible centuries of torment the land had suffered at the hands of Zargothrax. The dark wizard had made sure that his frozen crystal had prime view of the destruction. It was impossible to pinpoint his worst moment; there were too many to consider and all hurt in ways impossible to rank.

The initial years following the dark wizard’s escape and his own frozen torment had been hard. Feeling so helpless, especially as he watched his old friend Proletius slowly succumb to the poison from the Knife of Evil. In those early days, the grandmaster of Crail would stumble to Angus’s crystal and sobbingly recount what he had done and begged Angus’s forgiveness. He would be powerless to comfort the knight as he slowly broke under the weight of it all - the innocents he slaughtered that he had once fought to protect; his own brothers in arms that he had slaughtered with abandon and brought into his cursed undead existence; those who stood up against the dark wizard’s chaos that he hadn’t even given a second thought to before slaughtering. All dead at his hand. For Angus, he could only slowly watch as Proletius confessed his sins and watch as the knight gave in to the foul corruption until all that was left of him was the Grandmaster of Death and Decay. The one bright point of watching Proletius’s downfall was that he had truly fallen under Zargothax’s control he no longer had any compulsion to visit the frozen Prince. Instead Angus was only forced to see the Dreadlord when he was reporting to his dark master and only had to hear of his slaughter from a sadistic Zargothrax’s retelling.

There was the moment he was sure his heart would shatter: Zargotrhax had been in a cheerful mood and felt it necessary to hold a celebration to mark the two hundredth anniversary of his reign. Such a casual declaration of how long it had been made Angus realise that his beloved Iona was dead. No mortal could have survived this long outside of his frozen prison without access to powerful magics. One of the first things Zargothrax had done when he had taken power was to hoard any and all artifacts and sources of magic for himself. Any and all practitioners, from the mightiest Questlord to the simplest hedge mage were put to death. With that power out of reach, his beloved must have succumbed to the ravages of age and time. The only solace that he could take was that she had died free. He knew the dark fantasies that Zargothrax weaved - to have the Princess serve him as his handmaiden of Hell. He would never risk a threat to his power to make the Princess his Queen but he would delight in forcing the Princess to be little more than a servant and humiliated. Still, Angus had mourned her in his frozen prison and prayed to the Holy King of Unst that she had not suffered.

Years upon years of slow torture, watching peasents be put to the sword, be ripped apart by festering goblins and to be reanimated as dark technological zombies of strange design had worn away at his will even further over the years. So he clung to the few bright pieces he could. When the siege of Dunkeld was announced and knowing that this last bastion of resistance would soon fall, Angus clung desperately to those few golden moments. He hoped that once all hope of rebellion was snuffed out, Zargothrax would tire of parading his frozen nemesis around and grant him a swift death. 

He doubted he would ever be granted such freedom.

In all those years he had never seen the look of panic from the dark wizard before the young warrior wielding the Hammer of Glory - so similar to the one he had once wielded and yet different all the same. Anyone else would have missed the look of fear that crossed the wizard’s face at the sight of this young ‘Angus’ as the wizard called him and would have mistaken the way he flinched from the hammer’s strike to be a shift in his stance. But his frozen captive knew otherwise. Zargotrhax was scared of this young hero. Even if the wizard had fended off the young hero and managed to focus on destroying Dunkeld, Angus felt hope rising in him that he had not felt in centuries. It was a hope that he felt burned even brighter later that day as the Dark Wizard passed before his frozen foe, muttering to himself constantly. When Zargothrax ordered the Death Knights to ride out to Auchtermuchty and Glasgow and yet ordered the Dreadlord to remain by his side he showed just how much he feared this young hero. For the first time, Angus felt that the wizard would soon fall and be truly defeated.

He wasn’t there for the final battle. His frozen crystal had been hidden away in the dark wizard’s fortress. Angus wondered if he had given orders that should the battle turn against him for some goblin minions to shatter the crystal and grant a hollow victory to the rebels. If he had, then Zargothrax had underestimated the cowardice of goblins. As soon as the Hootsman had descended from the sky all the goblin army had fled. When the dark lord was defeated, the crystal prison had shattered. Weak from his years of imprisonment and not even entirely believing that his freedom was real, Angus McFife had simply lain in the slowly thawing ice until he was found by the one person he had thought to never see again.

He was not ashamed to say that both he and Iona had wept as they clung to each other. He didn't care what had occurred to allow her to return to his side. He didn't care if he died right there, as long as she held him that was all that mattered.

Of course, he didn’t die but centuries of frozen slumber had taken a toll on him. Iona had helped bring him from that lonely chamber to where the other wounded had been brought. It was selfish to say but he was glad that she had chosen to stay by his side as he was tended to. However, such luxuries could not last and she had to attend her duties as Princess of Dundee. Her absence allowed Angus to learn just what had occurred during his imprisonment.

That was the reason for his wanderings now. Whilst Sub-Commander Ralathor and The Hootsman had vanished not long after the fight - and Angus sorely missed that he had not had a chance to speak to the old hermit or his deity - there was one other who had fought in that decisive battle. In the ruined streets, rubble and remains had been cleared to make way for a temporary monument of sorts. He had already heard plans for a more permanent and impressive one once all necessary work had been done to reclaim Dundee. 

It was a memorial to the fallen, those warriors of the Hootsforce that had valiantly given their lives over the centuries of resistance painstakingly written in charcoal on stone slabs. He recognised his beloved's handwriting for almost half the names. Another part of the monument was given to those who had been lost in the dark wizard’s initial strike: the Questlords, the dwarves of Aberdeen, even the Knights of Crail were acknowledged in the ledgers of the fallen. It was thanks to the stories and tales from Iona and Ralathor that the names of Knights of Crail and their Grandmaster were not spat upon and cast aside - they were victims as much as the rest of them.

Finally, Angus could put it off no longer and looked to the central pillar of the monument. A blackened Hammer leaned against the central stone and above it was a painting. It had clearly been done from the polaroid photograph that was amongst the other offerings around the hammer but the artist had managed to capture a liveliness that the photo lacked. A young man caught in a moment of joy. Below the painting was an inscription:

Angus McFife XIII, Prince of Fife and warrior of Justice

We will never forget his sacrifice.

Angus McFife looked upon the face of the man who shared his name but he never got to meet. According to Iona he was from another dimension - the same as Ralathor and Zargothrax - and it had suffered a terrible fate. Agnus struggled to imagine what horrors this boy had confronted and yet had immediately stood in defence of this world and ultimately given his life for it. This boy…if things had been different, this boy would have been his descendant. More than anything he wished he had gotten a chance to see this young man, to shake his hand and praise him for his strength. 

More than anything, he wanted to say sorry for the boy that he felt the need to give his life for them.

“You didn’t deserve this fight,” he said softly, eyes locked on the portrait as if it might reply. “You deserved a chance to enjoy peace, to recover. Instead you were thrown into our mess. It wasn’t yours to solve. I’m sorry that you felt you had to.” Reaching beneath his armour, Angus took out the Amulet of Justice. Removing it from around his neck he carefully placed the relic atop the ashen hammer. “You deserve this far more than I ever did. I only hope that I can live up to your legacy. May Hoots be with you, young Angus.”

Offering a bow worthy of a king, Angus slowly made his way back to the crystalline citadel of Dundee. There was much work to be done to restore this once proud land to its former glory. There were still many evils that wandered this land following the dark lords’ defeat. Once he had recovered his strength, Angus would take up the mantle of champion once more and accept this new quest.

To be as brave and worthy of the kingdom of Fife as brave Angus McFife XIII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the tale comes to an end! I want to thank Lavender_Persimmon305 (Tumblr: tellmeoflegends) for beta'ing for me as well as all those who have read, commented and enjoyed this tale.
> 
> Until the next tale!

**Author's Note:**

> A take on the times we didn't get to see. Princess Iona deserves more screen-time and that is what I hope to give her. As well as possibly try and answer questions such as "where the heck did they get a flying sub from".  
In which the Princess proves to be the leader we all need and Ralathor is forced to step out of the shadows and take command. In Hoots we Trust!
> 
> For the marvelous [DarkMetalLady ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkMetalLady/pseuds/TheDarkMetalLady)and the life they have given to the fanfics of this fandom! I hope that you enjoy this tale, and to all other members of the Hootsforce out there... FOR HOOTS!


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